


On Purpose

by AvaKelly



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky is a little shit, Clint is oblivious, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, James is oblivious, M/M, Recovery, Safehouses, clint barton's home, cooking for comfort, james is really fucking oblivious, naked clint because he's clint what do you expect, natasha's meddling is very discrete, sam is too amused, steve is eternally suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Barnes finds solace in the midst of other assassins, a warm home, burnt food, and acceptance. But when he falls for Clint, he can't say anything, 'cos that's illegal, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://odeaths.co.vu/post/136152953594) and [this](http://intermittently-ava.tumblr.com/post/140474287002/sleepwalkerindreamersclothing). Thank you, guys. I hope you like it :)

About a month after he drags Steve out of the river, James lets him catch up. It's the most logical solution, after he rifles through five locations he remembers being at without much luck in finding the information he needs.

Who is he, really? What is truth and what is fabrication?

He needs to know and Steve, this man that's been triggering images to dance around in his head, this man might have some answers.

It takes a while, but he learns to trust Steve and his friend Sam, as they move from safehouse to safehouse, following trails of SHIELD and HYDRA outposts. Steve tells him the places they stay at are his friends' hideouts. They're well maintained, with enough food to last and weapons caches, blank documents and wads of cash. It feels like they've got a team watching their backs, even though he's never seen this Hawkeye Steve keeps talking about, even though he's only met Black Widow briefly. It reminds him of the Howling Commandos and trudging through mud all night, keeping each other upright.

Four months later, they're in a more remote location, at the outskirts of a spread out suburban area. This house is a lot larger than the other ones, two stories and an attic, a basement that's two levels underground, half of it closed off. There are several bedrooms here, more than one single person could ever need. It feels like a base of operations rather than a random safehouse, well hidden among trees, far enough from the neighbors that their movements are not seen, but not as far as to be completely cut off from civilization, while the entire area is surrounded by a state of the art security system.

Steve looks tired, Sam exhausted, so when they ask for a longer down time, James can't refuse. Can't push through, no matter how much he needs answers. Perhaps a break will be good for him.

It's calming, this space. It looks old, but well cared for, notches on a wall in the living room marking the growth of children, as Sam explains. There are books and DVDs and a large television, and it feels like being a kid sneaking into the movies when Sam plays something for them. The attic holds old boxes, dusty with the passage of time, of toys, colorful clothes, and faded photographs. The basement lock is no obstacle for him, although he takes great care not to break it. The lowest level, though, packed with weapons, tac gear, and comm systems, turns his stomach just as much as it reassures him that, should Steve need help, there are competent people that can provide assistance.

~

Ever since he and Steve and Sam have come to this place, James has been fascinated by the cook book he'd found in the kitchen. It's full of notes, tiny little things written in small script on the edges of the pages. The meals he gets from it are amazingly delicious, and he's been finding great pleasure in cooking for Steve and Sam.

About a couple of days after his newfound distraction, he burns an oven casserole, serves it without realizing it shouldn't be that black around the edges. He almost spits his bite out, but the look on Steve's face as he forces himself to swallow down the food, trying to hide his grimace behind a smile and a supportive comment, it all gets James to keep chewing. It tastes awful, and Steve's a punk, but it makes James feel cared about. Given the way Sam looks at him after he purposely burns breakfast two days later, he's onto James, but thankfully he says nothing. They share smirks every time Steve praises his failed cooking.

The next two weeks pass in this almost floating state of mind, as his head gets clearer of monsters and violence and pain.

It's soothing.

So when he walks down to start breakfast one morning and stumbles into a very naked blond, his first reaction is not to go for a gun. His first reaction is to stare shamelessly at the swell of his ass, the muscles on his front as the guy scratches his skin with a yawn, the bed ruffled hair that's sticking in all directions.

The guy, of course, startles when he sees James there, spills hot coffee everywhere and swears like a soft kitten, with a lot of words, but without actually saying fuck once.

James laughs, and that makes the guy laugh, and that's how Steve finds them when he rushes over.

So this is Hawkeye, name Clint Barton. And this is his actual home, as James finds later as they share a beer on the back porch that night after dinner. If there is such a thing as love at first talk, just like the movies insist there's a thing called love at first sight, then James is its recipient. He falls hard and fast, in the span of eleven minutes and forty eight seconds.

But there's nothing he can do about it, now can he.

Can't have himself kicked out of this place that feels safe, that has been healing him with its quietude. So James says nothing.

Instead, he satisfies himself with doing little things for Clint, like helping him clean the gutters, or painting the back door, or sanding the porch. What Clint enjoys the most, though is the cooking James has been doing.

James is having his usual pattern of perfect meals and burnt food on rotation, wondering how long will it take Steve to figure out he's been messing with him, that he forgets Clint is here now as well. He's reminded when Clint sits down and stabs a fork into a piece of meat so black, it's almost charcoal. Steve gives the same tortured face that's honestly too hilarious to endure, Sam tries to hide the way he wants to laugh by locking his jaw tight, but Clint... Clint eats with the same hunger and serenity like always.

It twists something in James, something that breaks loose of its confines, the love of his mother, his sisters and the cat that he and Steve used to feed behind the school. It keeps him shaking through the night, as he sits between his bed and his window, awash with memories, drowning in lost affection and shattered dreams.

It leaves him drained, this knowledge that the man in his memories is gone. What he is now, is not the same, but still growing onto the roots planted back then. He's changed. For better or worse, he can't say right now, but all he can do is look forward instead of back. He tells Steve as much, and that makes Steve cry, with actual fat tears, red faced and snot nosed, ugly and beautiful at the same time. Steve, he confesses, is not the same either.

Death can do that to a fella, James reckons.

~

Clint starts going off in full gear not even a month later. Steve starts joining him. At times Natasha, the assassin known as Black Widow, drops by, but then they all go into missions, leaving James and Sam behind.

They're searching for a piece of very important tech that's fallen into the hands of HYDRA.

It's after one of these trips that he finds Clint perched high on the roof, pale and shivering. James wraps him in his shirt and listens to Clint shakily tell him what the tech does. That it takes away free will. That it erased Clint from himself once.

James trembles with him. Somehow, he manages to love Clint more. Perhaps it's the understanding he gets when Clint looks at him, perhaps it's the friendship and welcome he's receiving from Clint. Perhaps it's nothing solid, but that doesn't make the way James' belly fills with butterflies any less real.

~

It's a mistake. He's been trying to spell _CLINT_ on the birthday cake, but somehow the frosting extended more than it should and now it looks like "Happy Birthday CUNT." Ugh. Great, James, just fucking perfect. 

A loud gasp from behind, followed by a cut off snicker make James turn. Clint is staring at the cake, eyes wide and mouth open, while Steve is snorting into his palm, trying not to laugh out loud and not managing.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Clint asks, eyes squinting and arms crossing against his chest.

Steve howls with laughter, bent over the table, and that draws Sam and Natasha in from where they'd been arguing over what movie to watch tonight.

"Wow," Sam says just as Natasha cackles loudly. 

She pulls out her phone, starts taking photographs of everything, including Clint's glare, but mostly of the mess of a cake. It's even tilting to the side by now, and the whole thing is a disaster. But as she and Sam and Steve are busy laughing, Clint's face catches James' eyes. 

He's smiling, small and secret and so content, that James' stomach flops. But when he sees James looking, Clint winks, mouthing a thank you.

It's almost as if Clint cares back.

James is rooted to the spot, frozen with how little he actually needs from Clint to feel this sort of happiness, rigid with the knowledge that he's never going to get more than this. He can't touch, can't tell, can't have Clint, no matter how much he loves, no matter how much he wants.

The cake tastes good, at least, he's made sure of it. 

Natasha wins the movie picking war as they all sit down on the sofa with too much cake on their plates. She always wins.

~

The next day it's another mission, and James is left behind with Sam, as usual. He likes Sam, there's something in him that's so akin to Steve, that James couldn't help but befriend him. Now, whenever they're waiting, they're sparring. Sam's getting stronger and James is getting faster. It keeps them in shape.

Their absence is brief this time, yet Clint's taken a fall, and he looks so battered, James' heart twists for him. But it's just bruises and scrapes, nothing broken, no concussion. Clint is tired, though, and he begs off an early night after he accepts help from James with disinfecting all the tiny cuts all over his arms and shoulders.

It's decompression through movies for Steve and Natasha, and the two of them keep up steady commentaries, much to Sam's amusement, whenever they come back from a mission. Sometimes it feels like they've both come from Sarah Rogers' womb, and James shakes his head at them.

Tonight is a cowboy movie. It's pretty boring if you ask James. He almost falls asleep through, but his eyes snap open. He blinks at the screen. He's not seeing this right. 

There's two guys, fucking kissing. In the fucking movie. 

"I give that kiss a seven," Natasha says.

"Aw, come on now," Sam returns. "This is iconic."

"Iconic my ass," she counters.

Steve laughs. "They should've gone for more tongue. Really get in there."

Sam kicks his leg, from where he's sprawled on the sofa. "Right, mister Softy, I've seen you cry at Titanic."

James though, James is utterly still. "What the fuck!" he manages, and it's louder than he's intended. All the eyes in the room turn to him, at once. "How can they make a movie about that?!" he gestures frantically at the screen, because... because... these guys are doing that out in the open and all he can think about is Clint. Maybe... maybe there's a sliver of hope after all.

"What's your problem, Barnes?" Natasha frowns.

Sam follows with "It's not the forties anymore."

And Steve grabs his beer from the coffee table. "Yeah, I forgot to tell you, it's legal now."

"Forgot!" James almost shouts, but catches himself in time.

"Chill, man," Sam straightens. "If we're gonna have a prob--"

"Clint is like us," Steve whispers in his ear from the other side, making him lose focus on what Sam's saying. "Goes for both."

"If you want to be homophobic, do it somewhere else. Clint doesn't appreciate it in his own house," Natasha adds, her eyes taking a darker shade. 

But all James can think about right now is that Clint might be willing. That he's allowed to ask. If he says no, then that's that, but there is a chance, and his heart rabbits against his ribs. 

"You don't understand," James jumps to his feet. "This changes everything!"

He runs up the stairs, straight into Clint's bedroom. Thankfully, nobody follows him, and he reckons it might be Steve's doing. He's gotten that knowing look in his eyes just as James had rushed out of the living room. Even after all this time and all the shit that's happened to them, Steve still knows him.

He forces himself to slow down and close the door behind him as quietly as possible. He takes a moment to compose himself, breathing through the way his stomach is tight with nerves.

"What," Clint mumbles, opening an eye.

He's sprawled face down on the bed, blanket bunched around his middle, just as naked as the first time James has laid eyes on him. The room is bathed in soft light from a small lamp on the nightstand. It brings out the planes of Clint's body as he lies there, a forearm dangling off the edge of the mattress. James clears his throat and moves to kneel next to the bed, as close to Clint as possible. He doesn't know where to start, so he looks at Clint, hair standing in odd directions, cheeks pink and gaze heavy with sleep. All James wants right now is to climb in next to him, skin on skin, and wrap himself around Clint.

"What is it," Clint whispers, eyes blinking open and his hand coming to rest on James' shoulder.

"I..." James starts, but loses his words in the small smile that Clint gives him.

"James, you know you can tell me anything," Clint says, voice gravelly.

Yeah, he knows, so he nods. Clint's hand moves, his knuckles brushing against James' cheek.

"It's legal now," James breathes.

"What is?" Clint hums more than asks with words, his eyes falling to where his thumb is tracing James' lower lip.

"It's legal to take you out and kiss your face all over," James blurts, not making much sense.

It still pulls a small pleased laugh out of Clint.

"If you'll let me, please," James adds for good measure.

"Anything you want, babe," Clint murmurs, his eyelids shifting down heavily.

But then there are lips on James' own, Clint's lips on his, and it doubles the euphoria spiraling through him. Oh, yes, this is more than he's expecting tonight, so much more, when Clint pulls at him until he's stretched out on the bed. Especially when Clint sprawls himself on top of James' chest, body warm and limbs loose.

James laughs quietly, eyes too wet, but he doesn't care. It feels amazing, to wrap his arms around Clint.

"This is the best dream ever," Clint mumbles, squirming closer.

He should be disappointed, but instead it makes him laugh harder, frame shaking. He squeezes Clint tighter against him.

"It's not a dream," he says, swallowing around the relief with a sniffle.

A few seconds later, he feels Clint's entire body stiffen before Clint's head snaps up in alarm. He blinks fast, eyes searching James' face.

"Did you ask me--" Clint starts, then swallows.

"Yes, yes," James nods.

"And I said--"

"Anything I want, and I want you."

Clint sucks air in like he's been holding his breath, but then he's leaning in, mouth soft as he kisses James again.

~

James stretches as he wakes. He's incredibly mellow, he finds, his muscles loose and relaxed. Spending the night cuddling a very naked Clint might be one of his new favorite things.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" James hears Clint's voice as he makes his way downstairs. "The movie."

"Look, it worked," Natasha replies.

James stops at the bottom step, safely hidden behind the wall, but still in hearing distance.

"I told you to stay out of it." Clint again.

"Not when you're pining like an idiot. I knew he liked you."

Oh. They're talking about him. James' cheeks heat at the thought that he's been obvious. It's all worth it, though.

A chair scrapes against the floor, followed by the familiar shuffle of someone sitting down.

"He really does, Nat," Clint's voice drifts again, this time in an awed whisper.

James shivers and slowly, very quietly, backs up the stairs. He doesn't want to eavesdrop. So when he reaches the step that squeaks, he presses on it just right, announcing his presence, before making his way into the kitchen.

Natasha smiles at him from where she's sitting at the table, steaming mug between her palms. Clint is leaning against the counter, just in a pair of sweatpants. His skin looks delicious in the morning light, and James doesn't stop himself from placing a kiss on Clint's shoulder as he reaches for a coffee himself.

When he looks back at Clint, there's that small smile there, the one that sends his chest into a somersault of sensations.

"I know it's time to burn breakfast again," Clint says, "but don't."

"You knew about that?" James returns, letting himself be pulled in Clint's embrace.

"Mhm," Clint hums against his collarbone.

"The only one who hasn't figured it out yet is Steve," Natasha adds.

"Figured out what?" comes in Steve's baritone from the door.

James groans.

"Finally," Sam's voice follows before fingers push at James' side. "Move over, I want coffee."

"Fuck off," James buries his face with a sigh against Clint's neck.

"Figured out what?" Steve asks again.

Laughter overtakes him, so loud and clear from deep inside his core, that it pulls everyone in.

Yes, doing things on purpose is liberating. Fucking magnificent, now that he has it.

His free will.

~End~


End file.
